Moved to Strike
by PolarBuryMe
Summary: Years have passed since Mark first saw Danny at the window. This ghost from the past appears one night, begging to be let in.


_AT the last, tenderly_

_From the walls of the powerful fortress'd house,_

_From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors,_

_Let me be wafted._

_Let me glide noiselessly forth;_

_With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper,_

_Set ope the doors O soul._

_Tenderly—be not impatient,_

_(Strong is your hold O mortal flesh,_

_Strong is your hold O love)._

Walt Whitman, _The Last Invocation_

How many years had it been?

Mark mulled it over on the edge of sleep, trying to come up with a number. Five years? Six? More? The years were starting to blend together, just as it had been with the days.

How long had it been since that first terrifying experience had come with Danny Glick at the window? It had been unlike anything he'd ever felt before; horror that couldn't be compared to any monster movie or Halloween pulp novel. It was years past, but still fresh in his mind. Sometimes as he fell asleep at night, he felt like he was still there, in the past, clad in pajama bottoms, stepping toward the window in the room of his childhood. And then, when sleep began to consume him, he would slip into the dream, and Danny's boyish face would appear gradually in the window, fading out of the mist.

"Let me in." Danny would command. And Mark would remember the lesson he learned from so many books and movies: _don't let the monster in; it has to be let in_. But sometimes, in these dreams, acting out of reason, he would glide to the window on air, and unhook the latch, and pull the window open…

What would it have been like, Mark wondered, if he _had_ let him in?

Was it as painful as they said? Was it as wonderful as they said? It was supposed to feel like a nail striking the skin, and then a transcendent ecstasy, following the initial shock of the heart stopping and the organs shutting down, and the blood settling in the veins, never to pump again. It was supposed to feel like heaven, or a really delicious drug.

But Mark didn't have time to think about that right this minute. He had to concentrate and go to sleep. He was in a strange country, somewhere in South America, and the room was stuffy and hot. He could hear Ben snoring in the next room. His grey pajama bottoms were sticking to his sweaty legs. He realized dimly that this room was roughly the same size of the room he lived in as a child; the same room he had been sleeping in on the night when Danny came to his window and changed his life forever.

Mark shook the thought out of his head and tried to think of something happier. Maybe he would go to the market tomorrow. The weather would be cooler. He started to nod off, but never quite got to sleep.

It could've been minutes later; it could've been hours. Mark heard something tapping at his window.

"Mark? Mark?"

His eyes opened immediately but refused to turn toward the window.

"Mark? Won't you let me in?"

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and kept his eyes on his feet as he slowly padded to the window. In the darkness he could make out a thin form. One with bright white eyes and curly black hair. He locked eyes with the thing, knowing full well whose voice it was before his sight could adjust to the blackness.

It was Danny. But it wasn't Danny. This Danny had aged, growing awkwardly into young adulthood like one alive. Mark noted the cords of the muscles in his hands under his black funeral suit, and a faint shadow on his chin where shorn facial hair was trying to re-grow. His face was shapely and adult, but still round and boyish with baby fat.

Without thinking, he unlatched the window and threw it open. A blast of cool air hit his sweaty body, rattling him awake with the force of a strong autumn breeze. Immediately, Danny's form collapsed on him, engulfing him in dim fog.

He felt himself being pushed backward toward the bed, awkwardly, the tips of his feet barely touching the concrete floor. He let himself be carried.

He was dropped gently on the bed, sheets cool, and the being enfolded on itself and regained its human form. Its body hovered on top of him, just an inch above him. He could feel the biting coldness of it.

He had read about something like this in an old anthology of myths. What was the word…. Incubus?

It was pressing on him, smothering him. But he couldn't move. Even if he could, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Mark's eyes were closed, so he felt rather than saw Danny smile as he lowered his face down onto Mark's. The life and will seemed to drain out of him as Danny's lips touched him. In that instant, he felt his soul dissolve and a feeling of pure bliss took its place.

Danny hovered above him, shutting out all the light from the stars. He lowered his lips to Mark's chin, then his neck. Mark braced himself for a bite, but it didn't come. Danny kept moving downward, and with each kiss his mouth grew warmer, as if he was actually pulling the life force from Mark.

"I need you." Danny said. Mark liked that idea, _to be needed_. "I'm in a cold, dark place."

"I can tell." Mark said. "You can come in."

"That's all I wanted, Mark." Danny whispered. "To be let in."

"Yes…"

Danny pushed Mark's pants to the side and set to work, fangs bared.

"Every night since then," Mark panted, "I wondered, what would it feel like? How would it have felt to let you in? What was that feeling, that lovely feeling everyone talked about? To get the kiss of the-" Danny's tooth nicked Mark's sensitive skin. "Ah! To get the kiss of the… of the…"

Mark never got to complete that thought. A wave of orgasm engulfed him as Danny pumped him urgently, and in that very moment as he came, Danny's mouth opened wide and bit him on the sensitive skin below his belly button. Their eyes linked together and Mark felt a bliss so powerful it could wake the dead.

Mark awoke with the crowing of a rooster the next morning. His eyes widened and he sat up in the dawning sunlight. It didn't burn him. He felt the skin of his lower belly. There was no puncture. It had only been a dream.

But the window had been opened.


End file.
